


Bystander

by KenyaKetchup (temptedmelibea)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, M/M, No Smut, Other, Somnophilia, Unrequited Love, reader's gender is left ambiguous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 11:47:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16953423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temptedmelibea/pseuds/KenyaKetchup
Summary: "You were Pap’s new ‘bestie’. The two of you had been doing everything together lately. Post-run brunches at his house. Board game afternoons at his house. Movie nights… at his house."





	Bystander

It was a dangerous game to be staring at you like this. Even if you were asleep on his couch, there was little reason for him to be up and standing so close to you this late at night.

 

You were Pap’s new ‘bestie’. The two of you had been doing everything together lately. Post-run brunches at his house. Board game afternoons at his house. Movie nights… at his house.

 

Sans had been given every opportunity to really _look_ at you. See how soft your hair looked up close, how squishy your skin was when his brother hugged you. Sans himself had never touched you— You were _Pap’s_ friend, not his. Maybe _more_ than a friend, judging by the way Sans caught Papyrus sometimes looking at you.

 

Sans had never touched you. Would never touch you. So what was he doing here?

 

The house felt ominously quiet with you sleeping here, alone. Papyrus had gone to sleep quite a bit ago, leaving you here and going to his bed upstairs so you could have space.

 

You were unconscious. Out in the open. Alone.

 

He’d never touch you.

 

So what was he doing here?

 

Your chest rose and it fell, yet you never stirred. You’d been Papyrus’ friend for long enough—had fallen asleep on this couch enough—that Sans honestly doubted his presence could wake you up. He had seen Papyrus move you in your sleep whenever the position you slept in looked uncomfortable. Had seen you sleep through the loud clatter of pots and pans in the morning, sleep through loud conversations in the kitchen, even sleep through Papyrus accidentally kicking the couch.

 

He had seen enough of you to know you were a very heavy sleeper. Had been around often enough to see how difficult it was to wake you up.

 

The steady rise and fall of your chest was hypnotic. How your flesh moved, how it probably felt—

 

He’d never touch you. Didn’t need to touch you.

 

You were Papyrus’ friend.

 

He found himself kneeling down closer so he could better examine your face as you slept. You looked so peaceful as you drew your breaths in. Serene. Looking at you like this, you were a blank slate. Yet he had seen every emotion your face could make.

 

He had seen the way your cheeks flushed whenever Papyrus complimented your culinary ability. The way you smiled when Paps patted your head, hard phalanges on your soft hair—

 

He very carefully lifted his own hand to move a strand of hair away from your face. Only so he could take a better look at your skin. He was careful not to touch you.

 

Something shrank inside his chest. Maybe his soul skipped a beat. Maybe he was nervous, excited. But he was careful not to touch you.

 

You were so close and so still that he could count every single one of your eyelashes, if he wanted. He probably had the time. Neither you nor Papyrus would be awake for hours. Sans probably had the time to count every hair follicle, every freckle of your skin if he wanted—

 

He moved his hand down to move the collar of your shirt as if to do just that. Exposed your collarbone, but he was careful not to touch you.

 

He wouldn’t touch you. Would never touch you.

 

You were Papyrus’ friend.

 

He lifted his hand to trace the path of an eyebrow with his finger and felt the soft caress of your breath on bone. It felt warm, about as warm as he had expected you to feel, but he didn’t dare stroke your cheek. Instead he let the back of his hand move down and _very quickly_ come into contact with your neck. Stole a brief touch of your skin. Just a bit. Just a hint.

 

It was enough that he probably now had the sensation memorized. Something he could think about before he fell asleep. But it was barely even a touch. If it was only the back of his hand, he hadn’t touched you. He didn’t need to touch you. He couldn’t touch you.

 

You were Papyrus’ friend.

 

You felt warm, though. Warmer than he’d dreamed. And you had felt soft too, but he had barely touched you.

 

You were…

 

You felt different.

 

He had often imagined what it would feel like if your friendship with his brother led to where Sans thought it might be starting to lead. To see even more of you around the house, hear more of you through his bedroom walls—your muffled voice, so warm and inviting, that reached his skull even through his pillow. You were Papyrus’ friend. Papyrus had seen you _first_. And from the way Paps looked at you and the way you looked at _him_ , he—

 

He often imagined what it would feel like to have more of you around. To see your expressions and see you move, almost ethereally throughout the house. To hear you speak even when you weren’t in the same room. Feel your presence even when he wished he didn’t feel anything at all.

 

You were Papyrus’ friend, not his. And although he had promised himself not to touch you, the feeling of his thumb now tenderly running against your cheek felt like heaven.

 

He felt his own breath catch in his throat. His soul drum anxiously. Felt his magic build up, up, almost unbearably. The feeling alone was asphyxiating, and he focused on your lips.

 

You smiled so often, like a shining star, but now your lips were relaxed and slightly parted. You looked serene. Inviting even when asleep.

 

Sans cupped his hand against your cheek.

 

And when he leaned down, he wasn’t thinking of anything. Wasn’t thinking of you, or the way he felt when you were in the room. How his breath caught every time you came in through the door. How impossible it was not to watch you, how excruciating it felt to try to tune out your voice.

 

Your lips felt soft against his teeth and the brief spark of magic that accompanied it. Your warmth extended and travelled through him, reaching every bone before it settled in his empty chest. You were everything in that moment. You were special.

 

He pulled away as if to search your eyes but you were still asleep.

 

The only movement from you was the even rise and fall of your chest.

 

You were asleep. You were Papyrus’ friend. And the regret set in.

 

He shouldn’t touch you. Should never have touched you.

 

The mantra felt much more painful now than it did before but he still repeated it.

 


End file.
